"Your blood pressure is high, Ms. Scarlod. 138/88mmHg... ah, you are suffering from 'Hypertension.' Stage 1, to be precise. Hmmm, I will prescribe some medicines for you. Now, your haemoglobin... is around 14. Good," said George.
"Doc, when will all this be over? I have some work back at my home. So, can we be quick?" I asked with an impatient tone.
George frowned. He asked, "What will be more important than your health? Ms. Scarlod, your condition is not so good. You have stomach issues. Although, there is no major problem with your stomach... I am not going to ignore this. You have hypertension. Your calcium levels are low. Tell me, are you an alcoholic?"
I pointed at myself. "You mean, 'workaholic?' Am I right?" I asked him.
George shook his head. He clarified, "I said, 'alcoholic.' How many times do you drink in a day?"
How many times I drink? What type of question is this? I replied, "I am not an alcoholic."
He sighed, "Frequently, I guess. Why are you always so... angry? You always seem to lose your patience for the smallest of things. Trauma, perhaps? Were you abused when you were young?"
I flinched at his words. Countless bad thoughts emerged my mind when I heard the word, 'trauma.' My head began aching. All the bad memories began swirling in my head, urging me to split my skull open. I rubbed my temples with both my hands.
"Headache?"
"Fuck yeah! Doc, can you hurry? You are a psychiatrist, aren't you?"
"I am also a surgeon."
"Are you? Ahhh! Fuck! Doc, give me some tablet for headache. It's killing me!" I yelled in pain.
George nodded and handed me a tablet from his drawer.
"Water?" I asked him.
"Wait. Let me call a nurse to bring you a water bottle?"
I gave him an annoyed look. "There's a water bottle sitting on your desk like a king, right in front of you. I am drinking that."
I grabbed the water bottle from the desk. George tried to take the water bottle from me, but I dodged his hand. Opening it, I ate the medicine and drank some water from it.
"You know, Ms. Scarlod... you are annoying me."
Annoying? I drank all the water and threw the empty bottle on the floor. "Am I 'annoying?' It's very high of you to say that, Mr. George."
George laughed angrily.
"What do you want? Ms. Scarlod, you are not cooperating with me. As your doctor, I have the right to know everything about you. Withholding any information makes it difficult for me to arrange any sort of 'session' with you. Dr Walton thought you as a cash cow. I don't. So, it will be good for you to stop being a bitch, and be upfront about it."
Taking a deep breath, I snarled, "Did you just call me a 'bitch?' You know, you should think twice before asking these questions, okay? The only thing stopping me from hitting you, is your handsomeness. You know, I am going to let it slide if... you go on a date with me."
"I refuse."
"What! Can you give me a fucking reason?!"
George looked at me with a disgusted expression. Hmmm, that's new. Normally, men don't refuse my advances, and here, this simpleton is refusing... almost blatantly.
He stood up from his sit. Crouching down, he lifted up the empty water bottle from the ground and put it back on his desk. "Ms. Scarlod, as I said... I don't sleep with my clients, especially women like you who are mercurial in nature. Besides, I have a fiancée, with whom I am happy with."
I rubbed my temples, trying to lessen the headache's merciless and constant attacks.
I sneered, "Oh, for god's sake! Do you think I will believe this?! Just look at you!" I pointed my hand at him, "I am sure you are just playing hard to get, aren't you?"
George sneered back me.
"Get out, Ms. Scarlod."
Gasped in surprise, I asked, "What did you say?" Did he really say that? Now, I am really feeling offended.
George pointed his hand towards the door. He said, "There's the door. Open it and go out. And please don't come unless, I call you."
My eyes were widened in shock.
I slammed my hand on the desk and yelled, "How dare you! Did you think I will follow your order and go out? No! Hell no! Fuck you! What type of doctor are you? I am your patient!"
George yelled, "You are not! Only because of Dr Walton, I am tolerating you. If it's up to me, I will send you to an asylum. It's only a matter of time, Ms. Scarlod. Your mental health is deteriorating rapidly. A person like is dangerous, okay?"
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. An 'asylum?' I am not mad! Is it because of my words he thinks me as a madwoman? Just because I get angry sometimes that doesn't mean... I am a lunatic. Fuck you, George! On top that, he is a surgeon as well! What a joke!
"You are a shitty doctor, George Hamilton. I am pretty sure that you are also a shitty surgeon as well. I mean, what type of doctor... psychiatrist gets angry at his patient? May be you need a counselling session for yourself," I yelled in anger. On impulse, I grab that empty bottle and threw it at his face. Ah, fuck! My head is hurting even more.
It hit directly on his face. Although, George didn't flinch even for a second. His blue eyes were observing me with anger laced over them, as if waiting for me to do something more... cross my limit.
Honestly, it scared me for a moment. But I held my ground, shown him a middle finger, and busted out of his chamber's door. Fuck Walton! I am going to kill him when I see him. What type of doctor he did send me to?
"Ms. Scarlod, when is your next movie coming?" said an unknown voice, forcing me to look at the 'intruder,' intruding my thought process.
Numerous cameras and mics were surrounding me. Austin and his hired men, who were acting as my bodyguards, were trying to keep the paparazzi away from me. Wait, paparazzi? Ah, fuck! With all this pent-up anger unreleased, I am really not in a mood to deal with these bastards today.
"Austin, take care of them. Also, make me a way. These idiots have almost blocked the exit," I whispered in his ear.
Austin nodded and told his subordinates to remove these 'ingrates' out of my way.
"Move it! Make a way!"
"She is not going to answer any of your questions! So, move it!"
"Ms. Scarlod, what's your relation with Mr. Lorenz? Are you in relationship with him?"
"What is your relationship with Mr. Lorenz? Is he your boyfriend?"
The bodyguards and paparazzi were shouting simultaneously, causing my headache to worsen. I have to get out of here.
"Are you going to your father's funeral?"
This question made me to stop on my tracks. I turned towards the man who asked me this question. Without any thought, I grabbed his mic and threw it away. Then, I threw his camera.
Suddenly, I realised what I had done. I was so angry that I lost my self-control. Countless clicking of cameras broke me out of my stupor.
I looked at the paparazzi who were taking pictures and videos of my actions. Instantly, I knew what the headlines would be in tomorrow's newspapers.